


Motion Picture Soundtrack

by MissDinahDarling



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Marco Bott, Attempted Seduction, Bisexual Jean Kirstein, British, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Getting Back Together, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Poor Life Choices, The power of friendship, Wedding Planner Jean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 08:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10693338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDinahDarling/pseuds/MissDinahDarling
Summary: When Jean was sixteen, he was voted Most Likely to Go Viral.He hadn't given it much thought until ten years later, when a viral video brings him face-to-face with his childhood sweetheart who had disappeared on him without so much as a 'see you later'.





	Motion Picture Soundtrack

**Author's Note:**

> This to certify that  
> Motion Picture Soundtrack  
> has been classified for your reading pleasure.

> _"I wanna ruin our friendship,_  
>  _We should be lovers instead._  
>  _I don't know how to say this,_  
>  _'Cause you're really my dearest friend."_
> 
> \- Jenny by Studio Killers

 

When Jean was sixteen, he was voted Most Likely to Go Viral.

At the time, he hadn’t given it much thought as he was too focused on the fact that the Yearbook Committee had actually allowed him his quote: ‘they say cheaters never win, but I just graduated’. Though, the committee did consist of two of his closest friends, but that was neither here nor there. It wasn’t until Eren Jaeger (Most Likely to Be on Crimestoppers, yearbook quote being, ‘was recently released from his four-year sentence’) pointed it out, did Jean take any actual notice.

“I think they spelled ‘feral’ wrong,” he scoffed, snatching Jean’s yearbook out of his hands and replacing it with his own. There was a lack of heat to his words and a soft gleam in Eren’s eyes that took away any sting in his comment. They had come a long way since their fights on the playground and Jean wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Like you’re one to talk,” he retorted, using his teeth to take the cap off his pen before defacing Eren’s photo with the thick jail bars running vertically down. A glance at his own yearbook told him that Eren had drawn hearts over Jean’s eyes, with a speech bubble saying, ‘be gentle with me Marco!’, the little shit. “I think yours is the only one most likely to happen!”

Eren snorted, writing his actual message alongside his doodle over Jean’s face. “You could still go viral,” Eren said lightly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced up at Jean with a wicked grin, “with disease of course!”

“I wonder who I’ll spread it to first then,” Jean retorted, glaring at Eren from the corner of his eye.

Eren scoffed as he signed his name and held out the yearbook to swap back with Jean. “Marco obviously,” Eren replied, taking his yearbook back to read the message Jean had left him, “‘I hope you choke on the shit you talk, love Jean xoxo’, I knew you loved me!”

“‘Your hair is a lovely shade of little bitch, hugs and kisses, Eren’, and here I thought you hated my hair,” Jean said, batting his lashes at Eren, who recoiled with a look of mock-disgust on his face. A beat passed before they laughed at each other, falling into back into the camaraderie that had taken years to build.

Jean didn’t know when they stopped hating each other, but guessed it was around the time of The Fire Incident of ’13. The Incident never really got spoken about out of common courtesy, but Jean knew that it lingered in the back of people’s minds constantly. It didn’t help when two of the people caught up in the flames still had physical lasting reminders…

Speaking of which, “is Armin coming to the party tonight?” Jean asked, nodding towards the tree where Armin Arlert (Most Likely to Save the Princess before Mario, yearbook quote being, ‘you are your own limit’) was sat with Mikasa Ackerman (Most Likely to Rule the World, yearbook quote being, ‘if you don’t fight, how can you win?’).

“Yeah,” Eren said, glancing over to wave at his friends slightly, “he has physiotherapy first, but he’s getting dropped off afterwards. He said he can’t get too drunk ‘cause he needs to put his creams on before he goes to bed and can’t risk forgetting.”

Jean nodded. Though it’s been years and though Armin pulled through despite a 2% recovery rate, his skin was still very fragile and sensitive. The boy had been incorporating Aloe Vera and moisturising creams into his daily routine ever since he had been discharged from hospital. Marco had the same kind of routine; it became part of their lives and no one really commented on it.

Mainly because no one wanted to.

“They sign your book yet?” Eren asked, gently poking Jean with the edge of his yearbook.

“Yeah, they signed it first,” Jean replied. Armin’s had been a sweet message, about how he couldn’t wait for the next few years of their lives and how exciting everything was. Mikasa’s had been short: ‘you’re not a fuck up, who knew?’, which Jean knew he’ll probably get tattooed somewhere on his body and then engraved on his gravestone, ‘cause Mikasa-compliments were rare if you weren’t Eren or Armin.

“What? They signed your book before mine?” Eren demanded, outraged by such a betrayal. His eyes flashed with good humour, before he turned heel and stalked towards his two friends underneath the willow tree.

“It’s ‘cause I’m their favourite,” Jean called out, snorting softly when Eren’s reply was his middle finger. Jean rolled his eyes and opened his yearbook. He spied messages from Eren, Mikasa, Armin… even Ymir and Annie had left little messages for him. Reiner, Bertolt, Krista… nearly everyone but Marco.

Oh, and Sasha and Connie, their high school's resident Yearbook Committee. They had managed to wrangle Jean into helping them with the layout and formatting of the yearbook, in exchange for sweets, theme park tickets and their everlasting love. They had yet to deliver the goods and Jean was feeling slightly cheated.

“Jeanie, there you are!”

“Hey Jean! We’ve been looking for you!”

His left eye twitched. Speak of the devils and they shall appear.

Jean turned to see Connie Springer (Most Likely to Win the Lottery and then Lose the Ticket, yearbook quote being, ‘your yearbook quote is in another castle’) and Sasha Braus (Most Likely to Find the Ticket, yearbook quote being, ‘this is not the quote you’re looking for’) running across the field towards. When it didn’t look as if they were going to stop anytime soon, Jean sighed as he neatly dodged out of their line of fire.

What he hadn’t accounted for was them neatly repositioning their line of fire.

Their combined tackle had sent Jean flying to the ground, his yearbook bouncing off the grass to land just above his head. Sasha had him in a loose headlock, whilst Connie sat across his chest. Their twin grins of triumph and victory shined down on him and never before had Jean been tempted to commit murder like he had in that moment.

"If I get grass stains on my shirt, I swear I will—" he began, silenced when Sasha held up a sticky finger to his lips. He eyed her seriously, before opening his mouth again to give her finger a sharp nip. A sweet flavour blossomed on his tongue and Jean knew that she had clearly visited the table with the leaver's cake on it.

Yelping slightly, Sasha pulled her finger back and inspected it, ignoring Connie who was laughing at her.

"When was the last time you got a rabies shot?" he asked, pulling her hand across so he could examine it for himself. Jean's bite had left a soft, red mark behind, but apart from that, Sasha would pull through.

"Fuck you Connie, where's my pay for slaving over your shitty yearbook!" Jean snapped, pushing the duo off his body so he stand up to tower over them. Whilst he was the skinniest of all their friends, he was also one of the tallest; a fact he fully utilised against his friends when he needed to. Brushing the grass and leaves off his body, he turned and rolled his eyes when he spied his yearbook, his defaced photo open for all the world to see.

"You got paid, remember?" Sasha said, hand on her hip and she walked over to pick it up for him. She uncapped her bright red pen and started to write, "you are now the proud owner of our everlasting love. Congratulations."

"Do I get a receipt?" Jean asked dryly, tugging her yearbook from where it was wedged under her arm. Sasha's yearbook photo had already been defaced, courtesy of Connie most likely, and Jean snorted softly as he took in the hastily doodled eyepatch and cigar that poked out of her huge smile.

"Rude," Connie said, lightly kicking Jean in the back of his knee. He dropped his yearbook on top of Sasha's, uncaring that Jean was in the middle of writing his message for her, and joined Sasha in scrawling out a message in Jean's yearbook.

Throwing Connie a half-hearted glare, Jean finished off his message to Sasha, 'we might have finished high-school, but you still owe me theme park tickets; you're not getting away from me that easily, Jean', when he switched over to Connie's. The duo before him were giggling madly as they eyed the graffiti left by Eren.

"Has Marco seen this yet?" Connie asked, twisting the yearbook around and pointing at his photo.

"Better question," Sasha added, mischief gleaming in her eye, "have you seen Marco's photo yet?"

"I invite you both to take a long walk off a short pier," Jean said impatiently, finishing off his message to Connie with a sharp stab of his pen, "I haven't even seen Marco today."

They swapped yearbooks back, with Jean ignoring the twin smug grins before him.

"You'll be seeing him at my party tonight though, right?" Connie asked knowingly, waggling his eyebrows dramatically. Sasha elbowed him with a snort, despite having the same knowing sparkle in her eyes.

“Maybe," Jean said, shrugging as he glanced down at his yearbook, "better question, why am I most likely to go viral?” he asked, tapping his defaced photo with a slight frown, “when have I ever said I wanted to be famous? In fact, I’m pretty sure I told everyone that the only thing I ever wanted was a quiet life away from you nutjobs.” It was true; Jean never wanted fame or fortune. He just wanted his life to remain the same: uncomplicated and unnoticed. Whoever craved fame clearly needed a CAT scan.

“It was going to be ‘Most Likely to Get Married First,” Sasha admitted, leaning her head against Jean’s arm as she poked at his defaced photo, “but we were only allowed to allocate a 'most likely' once and we'd already given it to someone else.”

“Oh yeah?” Jean said, tilting his head to peer at her properly, “so who was it?”

Not that he really needed to ask.

“Do you really need to ask?” Connie asked dryly, quirking a brow as he looked over Jean’s shoulder.

Before Jean could turn to see who he was looking at, a large, warm hand gently covered his eyes and all Jean could smell was oak. Earthy, campfire oak. Subconsciously, Jean leant back into the body behind him, feeling Marco’s chest press against his back. The hand slowly slipped from Jean’s eyes, down to his hip where it loosely curled around the bone. Jean tilted his head back and grinned at the sweet, freckled face that peered down at him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” Marco (Most Likely to Get Married First, yearbook quote being, ‘My mother thought I’d turn out alright; who knew it’d end up being all left instead?’) replied.

“Jesus Christ,” Connie muttered, yelping when Sasha elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Don’t suppose you fancy signing my yearbook,” Marco said, gesturing his head to where Reiner was sat with Bertolt and Annie, a small pile of year books between them as they scribbled out their messages to their friends.

“It’s not signing your yearbook he fancies,” Connie murmured, side-eyeing Sasha who grinned in response. Jean kicked him in the shins and turned away when Connie attempted to tackle him, with only Sasha’s surprisingly strong arms holding him back.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Marco commented, watching as Sasha tried to calm Connie down. It was only the promise of getting Jean back later at the party did Connie’s anger deflate. Marco shook his head slightly and gazed down at honey-brown eyes and a sharp little grin.

“I’m not very nice,” Jean replied, hips swaying slightly without him being aware of it. He always felt somewhat drunk when Marco was this close and this flirty; Jean’s body would always take control of itself, whereas his mind would float off somewhere to entertain his hidden fantasies and feelings. It especially didn't help when Marco was more inclined towards encouraging those fantasies; his touch was always gentle and his stare a tad too intense for Jean's heart to handle.

“Gag, gag, choke,” Sasha muttered, dragging Connie away from the scene before they had to bear witness to any more of Jean and Marco’s ridiculous, ten-year long courtship. “C’mon Connie, I haven’t signed Mikasa’s yearbook yet and neither have you.”

“Oh?” Marco asked lightly, his fingers brushing against Jean’s jaw, the touch lighting a fire beneath Jean’s skin, igniting his veins and his yearning to be touched more, harder, for longer, “I can think of a few things that are nice about you.”

Jean flushed under the attention, suddenly aware that they were stood on the very public field in front of their very public school. Swallowing, he took a regretful step back and shrugged away Marco’s hand, watching as his friend left it suspended in the air for a beat, before allowing it to drop by his side. Jean tried to ignore the way Marco's fingers had twitched, as if he had been restraining the urge to pull Jean back to him.

The spike of disappointment that Marco hadn't pulled him back was hard to repress, especially when Jean caught the flash of hurt that flickered over his friend's face.

“Only a few things?” he asked in a slightly strangled voice, “I’m insulted.”

“Well, that’s not exactly new, is it?” Eren’s voice broke the lingering tension that had built up between them, “aren’t you always insulted?” Without being aware of it, their friends had approached them, waiting for them to end their awkward flirting so they could head off to get ready for Connie's party.

Jean didn’t care to validate that question with a response; he simply flipped him off instead.

 "Come on guys," Reiner said, coming up behind Marco and Jean, swinging an arm around their necks and dragging them in close to him, "whilst we love watching you two fail at life, we have a party on tonight and we really don't have the time for this."

Flushing hotly, Jean pulled away and scowled, "time for what? Nothing's going on," he protested, carefully avoiding the intense, knowing gaze that Marco was sending his way. Reiner simply smiled knowingly, shaking his head in a way that reminded Jean too much of his own mother; it unnerved him to no end, but he knew better than to call Reiner out on his maternal tendencies. The guy relished his role as the group's mother hen; getting compared to one of their actual mothers would only serve to stroke his ego.

"Liar," Ymir crowed, hipchecking him as she danced past, Krista tucked under her arm, "now let's get going. Tonight's gonna be one to remember, I can feel it!"

Jean rolled his eyes and chanced a glance at Marco who had finally looked away from him.

He conceded to Ymir's point though, he could feel it too; tonight would definitely be one to remember.

* * *

 The party was in full swing when Jean felt the prickle on the back of his neck.

Armin had once called it his 'Marco-radar' and sure enough, when Jean glanced up from his drink (raspberry cider, courtesy of Krista who had the best taste out of all of them), Marco was staring at him heatedly from the kitchen. Connie’s house was gloriously big, with an open plan lounge that lead straight into the kitchen, with only a breakfast bar separating the two.

A breakfast bar which was currently playing host to the two lesbians perched upon it. Ymir was sat on the edge with Krista straddling her lap, the two of them sharing the vodka jelly that Annie had brought with her. No one ever knew how much vodka Annie would put into the jelly, nor would she let people know where she got her vodka. Jean was pretty sure she was actually using paint thinner; her contributions to their parties always left their throats burning for the next three days, with someone of them left unable to talk.

At least it was an efficient way of getting drunk; some people like Reiner only ever brought water and painkillers, because he was an actual mother hen, no matter how hard he tried to deny it.

Somehow Krista never really managed to get as drunk as the rest of them, nor did she ever suffer a single hangover. Jean was 87% sure that Krista was not an actual human like the rest of them, but some fairy that Ymir had stolen and refused to give back.

(He had once shared such a theory with Krista herself, who found it to be the sweetest thing that Jean had ever said to her. She kissed his cheek for it, an action that still makes him blush every time he remembers it. He couldn’t help but note that she seemed rather sad at the time, despite her pretty smile).

Regardless, Jean was just lucky that Connie’s parents trusted him to make good choices in exchange for letting him host the end-of-year party. Jean was also very glad that any of their parents trusted them with alcohol again. After 2013, Jean was surprised when Armin had managed to convince everyone’s families that having parties again was conducive to his healing process.

Never let it be said that Armin Arlert was an innocent child, because Armin Arlert was, in Jean’s honest opinion, a manipulative, glorious, little bastard.

Gazing up, Jean swallowed hard to find that Marco’s intense gaze hadn’t left him, which hardened his resolve. He began to down his drink as he made his way past his friends who were occupied with an intense round of Ring of Fire; Jean had somehow managed to avoid getting caught up in it, lest he was forced to become everyone’s drinking mate again.

He still can’t remember Mikasa’s sixteenth birthday to this day, but for some reason, Marco always blushes when he tries to bring it up…

“Hey Jean,” Connie called out from his place in the circle when he noticed where Jean was headed, “the spare bedroom is occupied,” so that’s where Reiner and Bertolt went, “but you can always borrow mine!”

Jean choked on the last dregs of his cider as he twisted around to face Connie.

“And why the fuck would I need your bedroom?” he asked heatedly, ignoring Sasha’s mad giggling and Ymir’s outright cackling.

Connie shrugged, grin as wide as ever. “Just in case,” he said, winking at Marco over Jean’s shoulder, “I’m giving you my blessing now whilst I can still remember. Sasha! Write this down,” he said, holding up a finger as he waited patiently for Sasha to find her phone, “I give Jean and Marco permission to utilise my bedroom to the best of their abilities!”

“You’re going to regret that in the morning,” Mikasa noted, peering over at Connie from the rim of her red cup. Jean could see the amusement brimming in her eyes and felt his hackles rise.

“You know what you’re going to regret?” Jean asked, glaring down at the little circle of friends, flipping Eren off when the boy snorted at him, “you’re going to regret ever talki—”

“Jean,” Marco said, his body suddenly closer to Jean’s than the kitchen counter. His hand gently rested on Jean’s shoulder and the fight flooded out of the blond like someone had yanked the drain. Forgetting what he was about to say to Connie, Jean turned to face Marco properly. The taller boy was too close, his gaze too intense, and Jean could just about count every freckle and every lash on Marco’s lovely face. Marco moved so he was whispering directly in Jean’s ear, too low for anyone who was attempting to eavesdrop to hear.

“Can I talk to you?” he murmured, his nose brushing against the locks of hair that fell against Jean’s ear. The heat from his body crowded around Jean in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, nor unwelcome. Marco had a way of surrounding Jean all at once, without even having to touch him. “Alone?”

Resisting the urge to melt against his friend, Jean licked his dry lips and nodded, ignoring the way his heart trembled in his chest at the thought of being alone with Marco now. With his good hand, Marco grinned and lead Jean out of the room and into the empty hallway. They ignored the jeers and catcalls, just like they had been doing for ten years. Jean was slightly stunned. They had been dancing around the issue for _ten_ years, and it was probably the group’s worst kept secret. Jean wondered if finally, today was the day that they would stop dancing around and address the issue head on. It was terrifying and thrilling and Jean couldn’t believe they hadn’t spoken about it before.

Armin had even brought up the topic one night, wondering how two blunt boys could be so hesitant over something so obvious. Jean had told him it was the fire that kept them from moving forward. The fire, which was the reason why Armin needed to bathe in numerous creams and gels twice a day to prevent his body from drying out, and the reason why Marco couldn’t feel the right side of his body, never mind the fact that he lost an eye and an arm that day.

Marco needed to concentrate on getting better; Jean would have only served as a distraction.

Of course, the fire had taken place four years ago, so he probably couldn’t use that as an excuse anymore and Armin even said so at the time. Reiner, Bertolt and Annie had been forgiven, people have moved on, so why couldn’t Jean and Marco?

For once in his life, Jean actually had no answer.

Tonight, however, with Marco’s good hand wrapped around his wrist, Jean found his answer hitting him with the force of a sledgehammer. He was terrified. Things were going to change and they were only sixteen! What if they drifted apart come college, or even university? What if Marco found out Jean was a lousy boyfriend, or an even worse lover? What if someone cuter came along, someone sweeter and more agreeable and—

“Hey, hey,” Marco breathed, cupping Jean’s face and forcing the boy to look at him, “breathe for me, come on Jean, breathe.”

Unaware of when his breathing turned into hyperventilating, Jean grasped at Marco’s good arm with clammy hands. The hallway was still blissfully empty and quiet. Though he felt like he was trapped underwater, Jean could absently hear the party in the other room; the beat of the music and the soft sound of his friends’ laughter. His body shook and trembled as he regained control over his breathing. His vision had gone dark and clouded for a second, his brain working overtime as anxiety began to curdle his stomach. Marco was too close, too near, being too nice and sweet whilst Jean had a breakdown over the thought of finally being Marco’s boyfriend.

They had danced around this issue for so long… who knows what kind of expectations Marco had for him?

“None,” Marco whispered heatedly, leaning away from Jean to give him space; shit, he must've said that out loud, “Jean, listen to me, I don’t have any expectations of you,” using his good hand, he ceased cupping Jean’s face and began to absently stroke Jean’s undercut, the hair soft and short under his fingertips, “I don’t expect you to do anything, but I would like it if you would listen. Just for a second, please?”

Nibbling his lips and loosening his grip on Marco’s arm, Jean nodded shakily, his breathing slowing down to quaky, audible gasps. He allowed Marco to wrap his arm around his shoulders and lead him upstairs, away from prying eyes and ears. Jean had never visited Connie’s house before, and to calm himself down, he took in the photos that lined the walls and the candles that were tucked into the corners of the stairs, glowing softly as they melted their scented wax. Pink honeysuckle, Krista had told him; the smell was subtle but sweet.

Allowing himself to be pulled along to Connie’s room, Jean began to feel his pulse quicken, the sound a distant drumming in his ears. Each step towards the bedroom sounded like one more nail in a very uneasy coffin. Jean had felt so safe and secure in their dance, so close to Marco and yet keeping himself just that tad bit out of reach. He despised change and hated when he wasn’t in control. When they finally reached the bedroom, Marco unwrapped his arm from Jean to turn the knob, leaving Jean’s body cold and tingling.

Without meaning to, an unhappy noise rumbled in his throat, causing his cheeks to flush pink when Marco grinned at him knowingly.

“After you,” he said, pushing the door open to allow Jean to pass by. Swallowing hard, Jean slowly walked into Connie’s room, flipping the switch on as he brushed past Marco’s body. Connie’s room was a wonderful distraction as it had an extensive blend of Marvel memorabilia and photos of his friends and family decorating the room. Jean’s eyes were drawn towards the noticeboard above Connie’s bed, which was decorated in a collage of concert tickets, train and bus passes, photos, wristbands and doodles.

He kept his gaze on it, hyperaware of Marco closing and locking the door behind them.

Fuck, Jean thought. He hated feeling trapped and helpless, especially when he knew he had no reason to be. Marco could never hurt him, would never hurt him… still, Jean’s eyes swept over the perimeter and began to make a hazardous guess at how many bones he would break if he flung himself out of the window.

He was brought out of his musings when a warm hand gently tugged a lock of his hair, causing him to shake it off roughly so he could glare at the offending appendage. Jean’s face prickled with heat when Marco’s deep chuckle broke the heavy silence that had built up between them. Using his good hand, Marco lead Jean over to the bed, keeping his grip on Jean’s wrist light and easy to break away from.

Jean didn’t break though, he allowed himself to be walked over to Connie’s bed, watching silently as Marco sat down in front of him. Jean silently thought that he would die if he had to sit next to Marco on a bed, so he remained standing. Iron Man and Thor gazed down at him, mockingly from their positions on Connie’s walls.

God, he hated Marvel.

“Jean,” Marco said, breaking the silence once more, as he hesitated over the words in his mind.

“Jean,” and if that wasn’t the loveliest sound in the world, Jean didn’t know what was, “I need to tell you something…”

* * *

 Less than 24 hours later, Marco vanished with only three words left behind.

 

* * *

 He would need a new phone.

In the back of his mind, he knew that he would need one soon, especially when his old one had shattered against his door when Annie had tried to tempt him out of his room. Marco hadn't replied to any of his texts, his messages, his voicemails or his calls.

For now though, Jean was content with locking himself away in his room, away from snooping friends and their pitying stares. He didn't need pity; he just wanted to wallow. His mother hadn't attempted to pry any information from him. She left him meals three times a day and let him know that she was there when he was ready to talk. She regretted having to leave for her business trip, but said she was only a phone call away.

His mother would be pissed if she knew that Jean had wrecked his new phone already.

Regardless, his self-imposed solitude lasted exactly eight days before his friends sent in the big guns.

Of course, had Eren known that his efforts would have been rewarded with objects being thrown at his head, he probably would have sat down and reconsidered for a good fifteen more minutes. The moment he opened the door to Jean’s room, a small object immediately pinged off the doorframe, inches away from Eren’s head.

“Well fuck you too then,” he stated, slipping into Jean’s room, closing the door behind him quietly.

Jean’s room was usually quite tidy, an after effect of having Levi Ackerman as a form tutor for five years at high school. Had Levi seen the state of Jean’s room today, Eren knew that that instead of an intervention, his friends would be holding a funeral. The blinds were drawn closed, with plates of untouched food slowly creating their own ecosystems, balanced precariously on the windowsill. Eren had to pick his way through piles of unwashed laundry, rolling his eyes as he spied torn photos of Jean and Marco.

Jean Kirschtein hid it well, but he had a flair for theatrics. Eren looked up to find said boy sat against his headboard, glaring at him balefully beneath his fringe.

“Jaeger, I don’t know if you’ve missed the memo, but social etiquette states that when a guy throws something at you, you’re supposed to fuck off,” Jean hissed, pulling his knees up to his chest and folding his arms around them.

“Kirschtein, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I really don’t give a shit about your delicate sensibilities,” Eren spat back, crawling across Jean’s bed to sit next to him. Leaning against the headboard, Eren gazed at Jean and took in his appearance. With dark shadows under his eyes and a greasy mop of hair on his head, Jean looked truly unwell. Wrinkling his nose with disgust, Eren flicked Jean on the ear and pulled him into a rough side hug.

Jean flailed for a good few seconds before resigning himself to his fate. Melting against Eren, Jean shoved the duvet away and buried his face in Eren’s shoulder. He didn’t cry though; he had no energy, nor even water in his body to waste on Marco. Plus, Eren had enough shit on him; he didn’t need to see Jean cry too.

“Why the hell are you here?” Jean asked tiredly, the words slightly muffled and broken.

If Eren could roll his eyes any further, he was pretty sure they would roll straight out of his head.

“It’s what best friends do, stupid,” he replied simply, shifting his shoulder up to force Jean off so he could face him properly. “What did you think I was going to do? Laugh?”

“No,” Jean admitted, stunned by Eren’s admittance, “but you are an arsehole, so what was I supposed to think? And when did we become ‘best friends’? Thought you had Armin and Mikasa for that? You don’t even like me.”

Jean said it like it was a fact and Eren was seconds away from punching him in the face.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed hard through clenched teeth. “Yes, and I also have Sasha and Connie and Reiner and Bertholdt and Krista and sometimes Annie and Ymir on a good day,” he glanced up at Jean and frowned, “but more importantly, so do you. We aren’t primary school kids, where people are only allowed one best friend. You literally have eleven best friends, so quit this self-pitying act, it doesn’t suit you!”

“Everything suits me,” Jean quipped without thought. Chewing his lip, he threw Eren a half-hearted glare, “you know I hate it when you use logic against me.”

Eren shrugs, “it comes with the territory of being Armin’s friend.”

Jean snorted softly, “yeah? I must have some pretty shitty territory then.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Eren hissed, grabbing Jean by the shoulders and shaking him roughly, “do you realise how pathetic you sound? No one's died shithead, you still have friends, so quit this stupid pity party and—“

“Fuck you Jaeger!” Jean retorted, rearing up to settle on his back legs so he had the height advantage over Eren, “don’t talk to me about self-esteems when yours could do with being taken down a few pegs!”

“Oh screw you, like being confident is a bad thing? What happened to cocky bastard Jean who asked Santa for a fucking harem that one time? So help me god, I _will_ get you back to being that obnoxious asshole that everyone knows and loves!” Eren snapped back, standing on Jean’s bed when he caught onto what Jean was doing.

Jean gaped for a second, staring at the boy above him who was panting with exertion. They hadn’t had a spat like this in months, years even. Eyes wide, Jean opened and closed his mouth as he attempted to gather a response to Eren’s heated vow.

Blinking, Jean shook his head and started to chuckle.

“Did you just admit your love for me Jaeger?” he asked, poking Eren’s stomach lightly, “because whilst I am flattered, not only are you not my type but I am _so_ out of your league.”

A beat of silence took place, with Eren staring down incredulously as a cocky smirk stretched across Jean’s lips.

“You son of a bitch,” Eren muttered, ignoring Jean’s hiss as he swatted Eren’s legs for insulting his mother. Instead he took out his phone and unlocked it, flicking through his messages before finding who he was looking for. As he tapped out his message, Jean swatted him again impatiently.

“What are you doing?” he asked, standing up uneasily on his bed to investigate. Eren pulled his phone closer to his chest and away from Jean’s prying eyes.

“Texting Krista, letting her know that you’re fine and just faking this bullshit for attention,” he replied airily, expertly dodging Jean’s hands as the other boy attempted to snatch his phone. Jumping down from the bed, Eren clicked send and sent a sweet smile up at Jean, “sent it.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Jean vowed, clambering down from his bed on shaky legs, “I’m going to kill you and then I’m going to have to ask Ymir to help me hide the body which means I’ll end up in her debt and that will only end up with me getting fucked over, but you know, you’ll be dead, so worth it!” He emphasised his last three words with three jabs of his finger in Eren’s direction.

Eren clasped a hand to his chest, a wounded look on his face and his bottom lip trembled, “but Jean, who will put up with your bullshit then?” he asked. Though he was only joking, Jean knew that Eren was more indulgent in tolerating Jean’s crap than most.

“I’m pretty sure Sasha and Connie could cover it, they’re not as fun to mess around with, but they’ll do,” Jean said, shrugging, turning away from Eren so he could make his bed. Definitely an aftereffect of be taught by Levi Ackerman.

“Did you just admit that I’m fun?” Eren asked, walking around Jean’s bed to grab the other side of the duvet to smoothen it out.

“Depends,” Jean said, tucking his pillows underneath his quilt, “do you admit you love me?”

“Fucker,” Eren muttered, but Jean could hear the warmth in his voice and smiled to himself. He stood back and surveyed their hard work. Glancing around the room, he winced as he took in the state of his bedroom. God, he couldn’t believe he had lived in this mess for over a week.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing with his head to the rest of the room, “we started so we might as well finish. Maybe if you’re especially good, I’ll let you buy me lunch.”

Eren gaped at him, indignant, despite the fact that he had already turned to open the curtains, allowing a slice of light to enter the room and illuminate the utter mess inside. “Buy you lunch? Are kidding me? You’re lucky I’m not charging you housekeeping fees!”

“Ouch Mr Ackerman, when did you come back to haunt me?” Jean retorted, gathering up his dirty laundry and placing it into the basket beside his wardrobe. The basket was already overflowing and Jean was half-glad it was Eren helping him and not his mother.

His mother would have been most disappointed.

“Mr Ackerman would be rolling in his grave if he saw the state of this room,” Eren replied, wrinkling his nose as he began to scrape Jean’s mouldy food into the waste-bin. Which was also overflowing. Jean had never been more grateful that his mother's business trip had been this weekend.

“Yeah, and if he was dead too,” Jean added, snorting.

They worked in silence, picking up trash and tidying away Jean’s mess. Perhaps they were unaware of it, or maybe even hyperaware of the fact, but they both gave the torn photographs a wide berth. Neither Jean nor Eren looked at the pile, or even attempted to go near it, Marco’s grinning face just watching them work quietly.

When they had managed to shift a large proportion of the mess, they found that neither could avoid it any longer. They both stood, peering down at the ground where Jean’s photographs lay. These were photos that Jean would never get back, taken during a time before digital cameras were a thing. They were one of a kind and Jean didn’t know how he felt about them being ruined and lost forever.

The harder he gazed down however, the harder he found his resolve growing.

“Ten,” Jean said suddenly, staring at the torn face of a thirteen-year-old Marco. He had more freckles back then; Jean could remember counting them as his friend slept during their many sleepovers together.

“Ten?” Eren repeated, cocking his head as he silently urged Jean to carry on.

“I have ten best friends,” he stated softly, picking up the object he had thrown at Eren before. “Fuck Marco.”

Eren opened his mouth to object, before closing it again and nodding with resignation. He could always broach the topic at a later date, when he had the energy to fight and Jean had the willingness to listen.

“So,” he said instead, “what now?”


End file.
